


Flip For It

by CalSoliTsiren



Series: Tales from St. Petersburg [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Team Russia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalSoliTsiren/pseuds/CalSoliTsiren
Summary: It's Yuuri's first day at a new rink. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

Standing outside of the rink in St. Petersburg, staring at the facade and the cyrillic letters proclaiming its name, Yuuri felt the thrill of his nerves skittering up his spine again. Victor paused, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Yuuri?”

_I don’t know if I can do this._ The words were on his lips, but the moment he looked into Victor’s eyes, they froze, unable to move. _No, I can do this. I keep wanting to prove I’m so much stronger now; well, here’s my chance!_ So he lifted his chin, hefted his bag, and closed the distance between himself and Victor, who beamed at him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said warmly. “Everyone will welcome you.”

Privately, Yuuri wasn’t sure he agreed with Victor, but he said, “I don’t mind-- as long as my being here doesn’t cause problems for you.”

“Why on earth would it?” Victor said, squeezing his shoulders. That alone made Yuuri feel better, and together they walked through the doors into the lobby.

And then Yuuri stopped and stared, feeling every bit like the small town country bumpkin he actually was. He’d been to rinks as big and grand as this-- Detroit’s rink made the Hasetsu Ice Castle look like a duck pond by comparison. But just knowing that this was _Victor’s_ home rink-- the home rink of Coach Yakov Feldman and his Russian team-- was enough to be overwhelming to Yuuri. What was more, he hadn’t realized was how _beautiful_ the place was. The front lobby of the rink looked like it belonged in an upscale hotel. The hallways had floor-to-ceiling windows with wooden frames, and even in the cement block back halls, the ceilings and floors were smooth as glass, with pillars and geometric corners for architectural interest. Yuuri trailed after Victor with his mouth hanging open, staring in genuine awe at the facility.

The one thing he _didn’t_ miss was the smirk on the face of Yuri Plisetsky when he saw his reaction. “A little nicer than that hole in the ground you call a rink in Hasetsu, eh, Katsudon?” he called out.

“Yurio,” Victor chided him. “You can’t expect Hasetsu to have the same--”

Yuuri put a hand on Victor’s shoulder to silence him. “At least in Hasetsu,” he said, “I didn’t have to share ice time with the KHL.”

There was a snort of laughter from behind them, and when they turned, Mila was covering her mouth with one hand. “He has a point, Yuri,” she said. “You’re always complaining when we have to arrange our training around their practices.”

“What they do to the ice is worse than their time commitments,” Georgi commented, skating up to the rink edge. “Besides, we know _you_ don’t mind having them in the building, Mila!”

Mila shrugged. “I’m used to sharing the ice,” she said. 

“Well, I’m not,” Yurio said, folding his arms. “Don’t think for one minute that I’ll willingly practice on the same ice as that pig bastard!”

There was a moment of tense silence. Mila and Georgi glanced at Victor, who looked less than impressed. “You didn’t have any trouble practicing on the same ice in Hasetsu, Yurio,” he said. 

“I didn’t have any choice, did I?” Yuri said, lifting his chin. “I was a guest, and that little ice shack was the only option. This is my rink! My rules this time!”

Victor glanced at Yuuri, and though he was still smiling, his eyes glittered like cold gemstones. Yuuri, though, was not surprised by Yurio’s outburst in the slightest; he’d expected some sort of posturing from the proud young skater, even if he hadn’t figured out how best to deal with it yet. So he offered Victor a tolerant smile, and a shrug that said, “What can you do?” Victor raised his eyebrows a fraction, and seemed to relax a bit, though he still turned a disapproving frown back on the young man. “You are not being a good host, Yurio,” he chided him. 

“Why don’t you flip for it?” said Georgi.

Mila turned and smacked Georgi in the side with the back of one hand, but Yurio pounced on his words. “Triple flip? Or quad flip?” he said, excited. “A jump-off! You’re going down, Katsu-don!”

Again Victor looked at Yuuri, who shrugged gamely. “Give me a couple minutes to stretch and put my skates on,” he said. 

Yakov, naturally, was furious about the whole endeavor, grumbling about wasting good practice time and energy on a foolish contest. Victor did not protest, simply folding his arms on the edge of the rink, his expression unreadable. As Yuuri walked past him, ready to step onto the ice, all he said was, “Are you sure?”

Yuuri shook his head; when was he ever sure? But what he said was, “Let’s just see what happens.” To Victor’s doubtful expression he said, “I promise not to injure myself in a pissing contest with the 15-year-old.”

In spite of himself, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Victor’s lips. “Please don’t.” 

“Are you coming or not, Katsu-don?” Yurio hollered from the center of the rink. 

“Yes, yes,” said Yuuri, rolling his eyes. 

The first jump was a quad salchow, at Yurio’s insistence. Yuuri sighed, skating out onto the ice. After half a season of competing with the jump, his quad sal was perfect, but that scarcely counted as a point in his favor. “You owe me for that one, piggy,” said Yurio gleefully after he completed the jump, and Yuuri couldn’t really argue.

The next was Yuuri’s choice, and he went with the triple axel, one of his favorites. He executed the jump beautifully, but Yurio grinned like a fiend, and when he performed the jump, he put his arm in the air, boosting the jump’s difficulty. “Yuratchka’s got the edge on that one,” Georgi crowed.

Mila looked like she wanted to punch Georgi in the ribs. “Katsuki, davai!” she called, waving to him. Yuuri looked at her, surprised that she would take his side over her own teammate’s. Glancing at Victor, he noticed a crack in his coach’s glacial expression. And he thought he understood: Victor wanted Yuuri to feel welcome, forgetting that a skater starting training at a new rink was likely to encounter some form of hazing. And really, what he’d encountered in Detroit had been much worse. Yuuri had learned from _that_ situation: the more you let on how much it got to you, the more the other skaters would enjoy the process.

This time, he wasn’t an eighteen-year-old kid, halfway around the world, in his first time training away from home. He had to turn the situation to his own advantage; the trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to do it yet. So on the next jump, a triple lutz- triple toe loop combination, Yuuri threw the match, doubling the toe loop instead. “I guess you win today, Yurio,” he said, with a sheepish little shrug. “May I use the dance studio, please?” 

“Now, hold on--” said Victor from the rink’s edge, straightening up indignantly.

“No, Victor,” said Yuuri, holding up a hand. “It’s okay. Yurio set the rules, and he’s won for today. I’ll come back in an hour.” He nodded to Yurio, who looked just as consternated as Victor, and skated off towards the rink gate. His coach stood there waiting, and Yuuri could almost see the steam rising off the top of his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, touching Victor’s shoulder. “Go practice. Yurio didn’t say _you_ couldn’t practice on the ice with him. I’ll put in some time upstairs, and maybe hit the weight room, and then I’ll come back. It’s no big deal.” 

“It _is_ a big deal,” Victor said. “He doesn’t have any right--”

“He has _every_ right,” Yuuri said soothingly. “Relax. I get it.”

“I don’t,” Victor said. “He has been excited to have you here, ever since I mentioned it a _month_ ago. Why would he do this now?”

Yuuri grinned at him. “Did you ever change coaches, Victor?” he asked. “Rinks?”

“Of course,” Victor countered. Then he thought about it a little more. “...years ago. I’ve been with Yakov since I was eighteen.”

“And your transitions were always smooth?” Yuuri said.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Victor said, looking puzzled. 

“Why indeed,” said Yuuri, shaking his head. Ah, the things that were mysteries to Victor: why skaters couldn’t get scores over 100 points all the time. Why skaters struggled, or got nervous, or doubted themselves. What _hazing_ felt like. Unfathomable to this skating genius. “Focus on your programs,” he said. “I will be just fine, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

Victor glanced over his shoulder at Yurio, then looked back at his protege. “Better make it 90 minutes,” he said. 

Yuuri nodded. “No problem,” he said, picking up his bag. “See you in a little while!”

***

The dance room was just as gorgeous as the rest of the facility. Yuuri stood in the dark, empty, cavernous room, staring at his own reflection in the perfect, unwavering silver planes of the mirrors. The mirrors in Minako’s studio were old, weathered and aged from sunlight, dust and constant cleaning. These were pristine, and showed Yuuri his own reflection with startling clarity. 

He was not from this world. He wasn’t a perfect, polished artistic creation; his foundations were strong, and his passion stronger, but he did not have the confidence, the steel spine that was drilled into the Russian team. And he was fairly certain, at this late stage, that he never would have it. He didn’t have enough belief in himself as a winner. He needed an outside force to guide him. He needed someone, or something, to win _for_. 

“How does that help me now?” He asked his reflection.

He wasn’t weak. He didn’t need to let Yurio walk all over him-- he _wasn’t_ letting Yurio walk all over him. He hadn’t been defeated yet, and that fact was probably driving Yurio crazy. He wanted to be able to gloat, but Yuuri wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. No, his own victory, when it came, had to be decisive, and it had to put an end to the hazing. It had to make him, Yuuri, a part of the team. Somehow.

And he couldn’t ask Victor for help. Victor didn’t understand.

With a little sigh, he plugged his iPod into the speaker dock, calling up the music for Minako’s warmup routine. Then he went to the barre, falling automatically into the _plié_ combination while his mind wandered.

He was halfway through his _dégagés_ when the solution flashed through his mind, a bolt of illumination. Winning the jump competition wasn’t enough; he could do that, but it would probably trigger any number of rematches. No, once he won, he needed to change the game in a way that didn’t give Yurio a chance of winning.

And he was pretty sure he’d figured out a way.

Grinning to himself, he finished the sequence, then returned to the iPod dock, finding himself a song that was _definitely_ not suitable for ballet.  
After that, the hour passed very quickly, and when his alarm went off, he packed up his things, feeling rather satisfied. He wasn’t ready yet-- not for another day or two, probably-- but he had a plan, and that pleased him immensely. 

When he returned to the ice downstairs, he could tell from the line of Victor’s shoulders that he was not nearly so happy. “What happened?” he asked Mila quietly.

She glanced over at the ice, then back at him, shaking her head. “It’s been a rough session,” she murmured to him. “His attention wasn’t on his skating from the very beginning, and Yakov called him out on it. Told him to forget about coaching you, and just focus on competing.”

Yuuri winced, though he wasn’t surprised; Yakov had always been against Victor coaching. “I bet Victor didn’t like that,” he said.

“No,” Mila agreed. “He worked twice as hard after that, but I’ve never seen him… well, look at him.” 

Yuuri looked, and saw what she meant. Victor looked exhausted, and not in a “just did thirteen jumps in a row” sort of way. He looked… grim, like his practice had drained the energy right out of him. There was a crease in his forehead that Yuuri had never seen before. 

Yakov saw Yuuri first, and his frown deepened. “Go through the routine once more, Vitya,” he ordered. “Then I am done with you for today.”

Victor pushed his hair back from his forehead, giving his coach a dark look as he circled around. Then he saw Yuuri grinning at him, and the dark clouds of his expression lifted ever so slightly. Yuuri leaned up against the edge of the rink and called out to him, “Victor, _davai!_ ” and was rewarded when the corner of Victor’s lips quirked into a small smile.

He was exhausted, certainly. But it hardly mattered; Victor was Victor, after all. The routine was weeks old, but he skated it with so much familiarity, he might have been born with it in his bones. The piece-- it was the short program, certainly-- was energetic and sprightly, yet smooth and classy, and he wasn’t sure how that could possibly be achieved. The piece itself had a bouncy, jazzy beat, but a flute played a flowing melody-- and Victor used the juxtaposition of smooth and syncopated movements in his combination, matching the music to perfection. It was… _fun_. Victor’s routines had been so many things in the past-- breathtaking, flawless, moving-- but he wasn’t sure he could remember the last time one of his combinations was so playful.

“It looks good!” Yuuri said to him as he skated off the ice.

Victor shook his head, picking up a towel. “‘Good’ is an apt description,” he said. “It needs some work, yet.”

“Hardly,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. 

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” Victor said, reaching for his warmup jacket. “Go. Warm up. I’m going to get some water, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Take your time,” Yuuri said, pushing off and starting his warm-up, the easy, comfortable rhythm of the strokes and the crossovers. He was just finishing his edges when Victor returned; he didn’t see him, exactly, but he could feel his coach’s eyes on him, quietly watching. Once he finished the edges, he bypassed the spins and went straight to work practicing his jumps. 

“Yuuri,” said Victor as he flew past.

Yuuri didn’t answer until he landed the triple salchow. “Come on, Victor,” Yuuri called to him as he came back around. “We both know what I need to work on.” 

“Do we?” Victor asked him evenly. 

Yuuri t-stopped in the middle of the ice and looked his coach square in the face. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another. Then Yuuri said, “I think so.”  


He wasn’t sure what Victor saw in his expression, but his coach grudgingly nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “But don’t go crazy. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen your programs, so save some energy for them, please.”

Yuuri smirked. “You know that won’t be a problem,” he said, skating around for another pass. No, he wasn’t steel. For his whole career, all he’d been was fragile glass. But the events of the past year had re-forged him into something much more solid, and he could feel the differences in his day-to-day interactions.  
He could do this. And he would do this. On _his_ terms.

~end of part 1~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jump-off continues! A new player enters the scene! What will come of this game of Russian Roulette?

The third time he threw the jump-off, it felt like the rink exploded.

“What are you doing, Katsu-don?” Yurio demanded, skating after him. “You think you’re fooling anyone? If you don’t want to compete, just retire already!!”  His tone was no longer the mocking taunt of hazing, trying to get a rise out of someone. Yurio was infuriated by Yuuri’s apparent lack of competitive spirit.

And he wasn’t alone in his anger. “You’re willing to just let him win?” Victor demanded quietly as he reached the gate. “That’s not like you.”

It took effort not to react to Yurio when he was shouting, but smiling in the face of Victor’s disapproval was harder. “He did say it’s his ice,” he said. “And I’m still getting used to the place. So it’s fine for now.”

“What about this is fine?” Victor snapped. “Yuuri, I have come to expect a little more fire out of you. You’re better than this!”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic sharpness from his coach. Victor didn’t get worked up very often, and he didn’t usually lose his temper, especially not over Yuuri’s competitive drive. He might criticize technical elements, but when it came to competition he was more inclined to be inspiring-- even if his style of inspiration was sometimes interesting.

Searching Victor’s eyes carefully, he decided that most of the anger directed at him had nothing to do with his performance in the jump-off. Victor wanted a quick resolution to the situation, and Yuuri was not helping him achieve that aim. But Yuuri knew that he was doing the right thing. So he simply said, “I wonder what will surprise you more, Victor-- if I don’t compete up to my potential, or if I do.”

Victor’s eyes widened in surprise-- and not the sort of surprise that he usually enjoyed. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” he demanded.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them thick with tension.  The next words spoken had the potential to trigger a fight-- the first they’d ever had. And over what? Victor refused to admit how stressed out he was, and Yuuri wasn’t going to saddle him with any more issues than he already had.  “I told you, I will take care of this,” Yuuri said.

“There should be nothing to take care of!” Victor cried.

“You don’t need to worry about me--” Yuuri began.

In two steps, Victor was right in his face, gripping Yuuri’s shoulders so tightly it almost hurt. “You don’t understand,” he said. “You are the only thing I _want_ to be worried about. _You_ are what matters to me.”

Yuuri was shaking. “But-- Coach Yakov-- your comeback--”

“I don’t care about any of it,” Victor said feelingly. “I care about _you_.  If the people here are going to push you away and refuse to accept you, then I say we go back to Japan.”

He meant it. Victor would throw his life away to make sure Yuuri was happy. The mere thought of it made Yuuri lightheaded. “Victor,” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing the hem of his shirt-- the only thing within easy reach. “Trust me. I am doing _just fine._  And if I wasn’t, you would be the first person to know.”

Victor studied him carefully, peering through the protective shield of his glasses. “You promise?” he said. “Yakusoku?”

This time, Yuuri’s smile didn’t need to be forced; any time Victor used one of the fifteen Japanese words he knew, it was adorable. “約束,” he said. “How would you say it in Russian?”

“Обещаю,” Victor said.

“Oh-be-sha-yu?” Yuuri attempted, knowing that the end sound was completely incorrect. Russian had sounds in it that weren’t in Japanese OR English-- and it had been a challenge to get the English sounds correct. Their ‘L’s and ‘R’s were completely backwards.

Victor smiled at the attempt. “Close enough,” he said. Then he pulled Yuuri into his arms and hugged him.

Yuuri put his arms around Victor and held him. He had hugged his coach often in the past year-- more than anyone who wasn’t a member of his family, and even more than some of them-- but he couldn’t remember a time when Victor had been so tense. It felt as if every muscle in his back was taut and rigid, a barrier of cables and springs all stretched to the breaking point. Turning his head, he whispered, “You would tell me, too, wouldn’t you? If something wasn’t fine?”

When Victor released him a moment later, he acted as if he hadn’t heard. “Ninety minutes,” he said. “And not one minute longer. That’s already more time than I want to spend away from you.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said, though he was smiling. “Have a good practice!”

“I’ll try,” Victor replied.

Yuuri took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for the dance room. He knew he was close to being ready. _It’s time,_ he thought to himself. _Tomorrow I’ll handle the jump-off, and the next day, I’ll put this whole issue to rest. I can have this ready in two days, no problem. Then Victor can relax and focus on his own routines, and he won’t have to worry anymore..._

With newfound resolve, he plugged in his iPod and cued up the music. He hadn’t been able to practice any of his plan on the ice. Maybe, if he could get to the rink early tomorrow morning, he’d have a chance to run through it then… he wasn’t even certain if some of what he had done could even translate onto skates, and he wouldn’t know until he tried it.

“One thing at a time,” he told himself.

His private practice went very well, and he was almost humming to himself as he came back downstairs. He’d taken a little longer than he’d meant to, which put him behind when he got into the weight room. Hopefully Victor hadn’t checked the clock too carefully when he went upstairs, or he was going to get scolded for keeping his coach waiting. As if _that_  had never happened before.

He noticed the group of young skaters clustered around the edge of the rink, whispering and giggling, and Yuuri smiled. Whose fans were these, now? Victor, Georgi, or Yurio? The Russian team had no shortage of admirers who somehow managed to get access into the closed facility in spite of the rules. As he approached, one of the girls noticed him and nudged her friend, and in the blink of an eye the whole group fell silent, watching his approach with nervous anticipation. But that was silly-- why would they be nervous of _him?_   He was literally the least threatening person in the rink. He started to wave to them, then caught sight of what was happening on the ice behind them and promptly forgot about everything else.

Victor was skating through the step sequence of his short program, his easy grace making the intricate maneuvers look effortless. Standing on the ice with him was NOT Coach Yakov. The older man had been replaced by a Cossack god, six-and-a-half feet of pale sculpted beauty, who was studying Victor’s skating intently. Then, he shouted at Victor in Russian, his booming voice echoing to the rafters of the vaulted ceiling, and Victor laughed in reply.

Yuuri’s blood ran cold. Victor had barely smiled in three days. Now here he was, laughing with this strange man. Who _was_ he? What was happening?

The Skating Deity saw him first, standing at the rink’s edge. He said something to Victor, who turned. “Yuuri!” he said, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “It’s been 90 minutes already?”

“Longer,” Yuuri said, when he found his voice. To his own ears, it sounded as if it were coming from far away. “I spent an extra 15 minutes in the weight room.”

“I thought I told you 90 minutes,” Victor scolded him.

“It doesn’t look like you missed me terribly,” Yuuri murmured. “Practice went well, I’m guessing?”

“Yes!” Victor exclaimed. “Yuuri, this is Alexei Markov. He was one of my rinkmates _ages_  ago, before he retired to become a professional skater--”  Alexei chimed in, saying something in Russian, and Victor grinned. “And then he retired from _that_  to become a coach.” Alexei said something else, and the two of them burst into peals of laughter.

Yuuri smiled weakly, feeling the sick tide of anxiety rising in his chest. “Um, excuse me,” he said quietly, taking a step back, and then another.

It took him a moment, but Victor did notice. “Yuuri?” he said.

“It’s fine!” Yuuri said, with a quick, overbright smile. “I just-- going to go get some water-- I’ll be right back--”

“Yuuri!” Victor called as Yuuri bolted past the gaggle of whispering girls-- and the startled, outraged face of Yuri Plisetsky. He didn’t stop until he was safe behind the dressing room door. Then, he took a deep, gasping breath, fighting to force the air past the tightness in his chest.

_Calm down,_  he ordered himself, even as he doubled over, practically sobbing for breath. _You don’t know what this is about._  But that was the problem. Why didn’t he know about Alexei? Why had Victor never mentioned that he was training with a gorgeous, sexy man-beast of a skater?

_Did I just think that he was sexy?_ It was nearly enough to make him lose his mind all over again. He dug his hands into his hair, clutching at the strands as if he could maintain his sanity by doing so.   _Enough. You don’t have time for this._

Bracing his hands against one of the locker bays, he used his core muscles to push all of the air out of his lungs. When he was sure they were empty, he released the muscles and let the air rush back in, dropping the breath low beneath the tightness in his chest. He repeated the exercise, slowly and deliberately, until the tightness eased and he stopped hyperventilating.

About the time he’d convinced himself he wasn’t going to die, Yurio burst through the dressing room door. “Katsu--” he stopped.

Yuuri looked up at him warily, not sure if he was prepared for whatever the temperamental teen might throw at him. “What.”

Yurio huffed out a breath. “Oh good. I thought you’d be crying.”

“So sorry to disappoint you,” Yuuri said irritably, crossing over to the sink. His hair was sticking up in every direction. With a little sigh, he turned on the water, splashing some on his face.

“What did he do?” Yurio demanded. “I saw your face as you left. What did he say?”

“Who?” Yuuri said, confused. “Victor? Nothing. It was nothing like that.”

“I’ve known him for years, Katsudon,” Yurio insisted. “He can be infuriating without trying or meaning to be.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Yuuri said, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it lie flat again. “In fact, it’s what he hasn’t said that…” he trailed off.

“That what?” Yurio pressed.

Yuuri shook his head. “Nothing.” He wasn’t about to discuss his insecurities with the fifteen-year-old. Shutting off the water, he straightened up. “I have to go.”

He started towards the door, but Yurio stepped in his path. “Listen. Yuuri. You don’t need to take his crap. He has no right to upset you.”

Yuuri looked at him incredulously. “Says the person who antagonizes me daily, and won’t let me on the ice with everyone else!”

Yurio lifted his chin. “That’s different,” he said.

“How?” Yuuri demanded. “How is it different?” He held up a hand to forestall the reply. “No. You know what? I don’t want to know how you think it’s different. After tomorrow, it isn’t going to matter anyway.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. In fact, he didn’t realize what he’d said until Yurio pounced on his words. “What? Are you actually going to _try_  tomorrow?”

For once, Yuuri didn’t backpedal.  “Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for?” he said. “For me to try? Funny how it hasn’t occurred to you that once I put some effort into it, I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

“In your dreams, Piggy.” Yuuri’s response obviously startled Yurio, but he wasn’t so surprised that he couldn’t think up a comeback. “All that’s going to happen is the same thing that’s happened every day. You’ll end up in the dance room while the rest of us skate!”

“Tomorrow morning, I guess we’ll see if you’re right,” Yuuri said, getting right up in his face. “And I promise you-- you’re _not_.” And with that, he turned and stalked out of the dressing room. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face this Victor-and-Alexei situation, but he was sure of one thing: Tomorrow, he _needed_ to win the jump-off, for everyone’s sake.


	3. A Change in Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Yuuri prepares for jump-off dominance, Victor worries about his pupil's well-being.

Victor always could tell when Yuuri had something on his mind.  He came back from the dressing room and stepped onto the ice for practice, smiling that smile and swearing that everything was fine, but Victor knew it wasn't true. His early skate practice didn’t tell him anything-- Yuuri’s fundamentals were so ingrained, he could do them without thinking.  But on his first single toe-loop, the landing wobbled ever so slightly, and Victor’s suspicions were confirmed.  

Alexei glanced over, noticed him frowning, and tilted his head. “What is it?” he asked in Russian. He almost never spoke in English, feeling insecure in his knowledge of the language.  

“I knew it,” Victor murmured, answering him in kind. “Look at his entries.  Something’s bothering him.”

His doubles were all right; if he hadn't been watching so intently, he wouldn't have seen much of an issue. But starting with the triple sal, even Alexei started to see the inconsistencies in Yuuri’s technique.  When he finally fell on the quad toe loop, Victor decided it was time to say something.  Clearly, something was wrong; instead of pushing himself up immediately and trying again as he normally would, Yuuri set his head down on the ice as if waiting for death to take him. “What’s on your mind?” he asked as he pulled up next to his student. 

“Nothing,” Yuuri muttered into the ice.

“You know you can’t hide things from me,” he said, crouching down beside Yuuri’s head. “Something is bothering you. What is it?”

Yuuri sighed, glancing over at Alexei, who stood watching by the rink’s edge. Then he rolled over, looking at Victor upside down. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “Alexei has been working with you for weeks and you never mentioned him to me.”

Victor blinked in surprise. “Alexei?” he said.  _ That _ was what was bothering him? He was sure it would be something about Yurio!  “I never mentioned it? Yuuri, if I didn't tell you, it's because I always  _ forgot _ .  I forget about everything else when you call me.” He waved a hand in Alexei’s direction. “Besides, Alexei is... Alexei. When he’s here, I think about skating. And it’s fun, the way it was back when I first started. And when he leaves, I think about everything else  _ but _ him. I just didn’t think of it.” 

Yuuri thought about that for a moment. “I bet that Yakov likes that you only focus on skating when he’s here,” he murmured. 

“That’s true,” Victor agreed. “It’s why he called him in the first place.  He thinks he’s a good influence on me.”

“He’s a good influence,” Yuuri said bitterly, “and I’m not.”

“Yuuri,” said Victor. 

“But in a way, that’s true, isn’t it?” Yuuri said, sitting up. “I distracted you from skating, took you away from championship behavior. That isn’t what I’d call a good influence.”

Victor was dumbfounded. “There is only so much of my life that I can devote to ‘championship behavior’,” he said. “You have given me everything else-- everything I was missing. Things I wasn’t even aware I needed.” 

“I doubt that matters too much to Yakov,” said Yuuri. “He’s more interested in having you back in top shape for competition.”

Victor looked at him strangely. “That’s not true,” he said.

“Isn’t it?”

No, it wasn’t true. Yakov knew Victor’s competitive nature better than anyone. His harshness had less to do with seeing his pupil succeed, and more to do with helping said pupil meet his own exacting standards.  “Yuuri,” said Victor. “I don’t  _ care _ what Yakov thinks, and you shouldn’t either.” Seeing Yuuri’s doubtful expression, he smiled. “Come on,” he said, climbing to his feet and offering Yuuri a hand. “Stop worrying. You need to focus if you want to beat Yurio in the jump-off tomorrow.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Victor saw it immediately in the stormcloud of Yuuri’s expression. “Or, don’t,” he said with a little shrug. “Maybe I’ll just come up to the dance room with you instead.”

The distraction worked. Yuuri stopped to think about it. “I’ve never seen you practice ballet,” he said. 

“I’ve slacked off a bit, these last few years,” Victor admitted. “Lilia has been after me to practice with Yurio, but I don’t know if I’m brave enough to hear her scathing critique of my turnout. I feel like I should have taken a class or two with Minako, back in Hasetsu.”

Yuuri managed a smile at that. “Don’t start thinking that she would be easier on you than Baranovskaya-san,” he said. “Minako is quite a task-master.”

“But I’m sure she didn’t yell at you all the time,” Victor said. 

“Not _all_ the time,” Yuuri agreed. “...is that why Yurio likes her so much?”

Victor snorted, then started to laugh. “Maybe so,” he said, taking Yuuri’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Maybe that’s exactly why.”

It was rough, but they managed to get through the rest of practice. Yuuri’s jumps were still off-- more often than not, his landings wobbled, and he tripled every quad rather than risk another fall. Something was still bothering his student, but Victor didn’t press Yuuri about it. He wished there was something more that he could say to help him; he felt as though he never had the right words. When practice was over, he asked Alexei about it. 

Alexei seemed surprised. “But, you talked to him, and his jumps were better,” he said. “What more do you expect you will be able to say?”

“I upset him,” said Victor. “And I only got him to jump again because I distracted him.”

“So?” Alexei shrugged. “It’s what he needed. Being a coach is about knowing your skaters, and giving them what they need in order to succeed.  You think coaches don’t upset their skaters now and then? That’s what happens when you deal with people-- and it doesn’t only happen to coaches.”

“But what if I don’t know how to--”

“You  _ do _ ,” Alexei insisted. “You know he needs to talk out what’s bothering him. You know he needs distracting. You didn’t coddle him--”

Victor snorted. “ _ No _ ,” he said. “He’d hate that.”

“See?” Alexei nodded.  “You know what he needs. And you know how to inspire him-- otherwise he would not have skated as he did at the Grand Prix Final.”

“...I still don’t know where that came from,” Victor said.

“Have you asked him?” Alexei said. When Victor didn’t reply, he called out,  “Юрий! чем вы думали о том, когда вы катались самым результативным за всю историю бесплатно кататься на коньках?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Yurio shouted, “He’s not talking to  _ me _ , Katsu-don!”

“Hmm?” Yuuri looked up from unlacing his skates, a little puzzled. Then he glanced back warily at Alexei. “What did he say?”

Victor cleared his throat. “He asked what was on your mind during your free skate at the Grand Prix Final. Actually, he said, ‘What were you thinking about when you got the highest score in the world?’”

Almost unconsciously, Yuuri touched his ring, and Victor was reminded of the words he said when he put that ring on his finger.  _ Show me the skating you can honestly say you liked best _ . “I was thinking about you,” he said simply. “I thought, if it was my last skate, I wanted it to be the kind of performance you would give, with your level of difficulty.” He shrugged. “That was all.”

Victor watched him putting his things in his bag for probably thirty seconds before Alexei got his attention. “What did he say?”  When Victor repeated Yuuri’s words, Alexei looked smug. “I told you,” he said. “You are giving him what he needs. Maybe it’s unorthodox, but so what?” 

Quietly, Victor said, “Yakov thinks I’m only doing this because I’m attracted to him.” 

Just as quietly, Alexei said, “Have you been able to keep your sex life off the ice?”

“What sex life?” Victor snorted.

Alexei stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled, and ruffled Victor’s hair. “You will be just fine,” he said. And he cast a quick glance in Yuuri’s direction, but by the time Victor turned, Yuuri had busied himself with tying his shoes.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Yuuri was quiet all the way back to the apartment. After Victor unlocked the door, he turned and looked at his student, who leaned against the wall as if ready to fall asleep, his forehead pressed to the doorjamb.  “Did that busy mind of yours wear you out?” he teased him gently.

A faint flicker of a smile quirked the corner of Yuuri’s lips. “Maybe,” he murmured. 

Victor smiled, then reached out, stroking Yuuri’s lower lip with his thumb. The first time he’d done it, Yuuri had broken out in a cold sweat. Now, though, his eyes flickered open and their gazes locked, and even as tired as he was, there was enough heat in his gaze to make Victor shiver. Did his reserved, reticent Japanese lover even realize what he was doing? How much longer was he going to make Victor wait for him?

Then Yuuri yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and the moment evaporated. Victor shook his head. “Come on,” he said, taking Yuuri’s free hand and opening the door, drawing him inside. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go get some rest, and I’ll figure out something for us to eat for dinner.”

Yuuri nodded sleepily, letting himself be led through the door. “...It won’t be borscht, will it?” he asked. 

Victor bit his lip to keep from laughing. Yuuri’s first experience with Russian cuisine had hurtled him headfirst into the proverbial Cultural Wall. Cold beet soup, they’d learned, was something Yuuri could live without!  “No, no borscht,” Victor promised. “Shashlik, maybe? It’s meat. Meat on sticks. We usually do okay with meat on sticks.”

Yuuri nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Victor rested a hand on Yuuri’s dark hair, then turned him and shooed him in the direction of his bedroom. “Go on,” he said. “I need to take Makkachin out, and then I will get started on dinner. Okay?” He waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he reached for his coat.

The chill air of a late winter afternoon did nothing to help Victor’s growing sense of unease. Yuuri said he was fine. He even  _ seemed _ fine. But how fine could he really be, when he was so far from home and people were treating him this way? He was sensitive, and got anxious so easily.  Victor felt like he was hovering, waiting for the insecurities to surface-- though he had been surprised when what finally set him off was  _ Alexei _ , of all things. His Yuuri, who had never gotten jealous of Christophe’s flirting with him, or anyone else who might have tried to get his attention, suddenly found himself resentful of his old rinkmate? His hopelessly straight, married with children, nothing-but-platonic-friendship-between-them rinkmate? It didn’t make any sense to him.

As he came back into the apartment, he heard Yuuri’s phone ringing. After a moment, he heard Yuuri’s murmur as he answered it, and he had to fight the urge to stand outside his bedroom door and listen to the conversation. He knew it would all be in Japanese, and even after months of living in Japan he had nowhere near the knowledge or speed of a fluent speaker. At best, he could listen for familiar names and Yuuri’s tone of voice, and try to interpret them. But earlier in the day, Yuuri had said to trust him, that he would come to him and tell him when things were bothering him. So that was what Victor needed to do.  With a regretful little sigh, he wandered back into the kitchen.

He took his time preparing food, trying to give Yuuri time to sleep before dinner. But most of the food he kept in the house came ready made, and it didn’t take him long to heat things up. So after too short of a time, he found himself tapping on Yuuri’s bedroom door, softly calling his name. When there was no reply, he pushed the door open. 

Yuuri was sound asleep, his head pillowed on his crossed arms and his glasses lying on the bed beside him. Makkachin, who had wormed his way into the room, was basically sprawled on top of Yuuri; he looked up at Victor cheerfully as he entered.  And Victor sighed helplessly, wondering if Yuuri had any idea how obsessed he was with him. Or… what was a better word? Infatuated. He was utterly infatuated with this beautiful, hard-working, sensitive, diligent man, who had no idea how strong, talented or  _ special _ he really was. 

He’d been told it was hard to tell when he was being serious, because so often he sounded diffident and careless. But he couldn’t have been more serious when he said their “lucky charms” were engagement rings. He couldn’t imagine his life without Yuuri now, but he wasn’t sure if Yuuri was on the same page.  When Yuuri put his suitcases in the guest bedroom, Victor felt as if he’d been punched in the ribs.  He had assumed that Yuuri would… but they had never discussed it. At some point in the near future, they would definitely have to.  If he and Yuuri shared a bed, maybe Makkachin would stop abandoning him in the middle of the night.

He didn’t want to wake him, but food was ready now, and Yuuri needed to eat. Resting a hand gently on his head, he called his name.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Of the two of them, Victor was definitely the morning person. So he was surprised when Yuuri, fully clothed and ready to go, greeted him as he came into the kitchen.  “Good morning!” he said cheerfully. “I made breakfast.”

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, though. Yuuri went back to sleep almost as soon as they had finished dinner the previous evening.  "Japanese breakfast?” Victor said doubtfully, climbing up onto a stool at the counter. “Or Russian breakfast?”

Yuuri grinned. “Somewhere in between,” he said. Victor hadn't quite gotten Yuuri to appreciate eating sweet things for breakfast, and Yuuri couldn't understand why Victor didn't want to eat rice or fish first thing in the morning. “I made rolled omelettes,” he said. “And English muffins, in the toaster.  They're plain-- you can put what you'd like on them. And tea.”

Victor stared at him for a moment. “I didn't know you could cook like this!” He said.

“Well. I'm not as good as ‘Kaasan,” Yuuri said, his smile bright as a flashbulb. “But I lived by myself for five years! I picked up a thing or two.” He opened his thermos and poured some heated water into it. 

“Whereas I have been living like a pampered prince all these years,” Victor said, utterly unashamed to admit it.

“We aren’t all blessed with a food service who provides us with meals,” Yuuri said mildly, unwrapping a tea bag and dropping it into the thermos.

“Don’t forget my amazing ability to order takeout,” Victor said airily, waving his fork in the air en route to his mouth. “World renowned.”

“How could I?” Yuuri smiled fondly at him, resting an elbow on the counter, his chin in his hand. “It’s quite impressive.” 

“I know, right?” said Victor smugly, putting the bite of omelette in his mouth. And the smile fell right off his face, his eyes widening in amazement and every other thought vanishing. 

Yuuri tilted his head. “Everything okay?” he asked, though he didn’t look too concerned.

Victor swallowed, and looked at him, his eyes shining. “Vkusno!” he said, uttering one of the first Russian words Yuuri ever picked up. “Yuuri, this is amazing! What is in this omelette?”

“Smoked salmon, capers, and a thin layer of cream cheese.” It was Yuuri’s turn to look smug. “There was a deli near the rink in Detroit, and that was a specialty of theirs.”

Victor blinked. “You got me to eat…”

“...fish for breakfast,” Yuuri finished for him. “Yes, I did. And you even said it was delicious.”

Fish for breakfast. Victor was reluctant to admit it, but he was a little impressed. He wasn’t aware of how  _ underhanded _ Yuuri could be. “...I didn’t have to look it in the face,” Victor conceded.

“Or pick the bones out,” Yuuri said helpfully.

Victor scowled at him for a moment, though his heart wasn’t in it. Then he took another bite of the omelette and chewed thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said grudgingly. “This is an acceptable way of eating fish for breakfast.”

  
“Okay,” Yuuri said, carefully neutral in his agreement. Then he picked up his thermos. “And with that, I’m off.”

Victor blinked at him as he walked out of the kitchen, nonplussed. “Already?” he said, forgetting to swallow first. Quickly he did so, then called, “You’re not going to eat-- Yuuri!”

“I already did.” Yuuri was tying on his running shoes. “I was up early, and I wanted to get a run in before heading to the rink this morning.”

Victor glanced at the clock. “We have plenty of time,” he protested. “Give me a minute-- I’ll come with you!”

“It’s fine!” Yuuri straightened, and waved a hand at him. “Take your time. I’ll see you over there!” He picked up his skating bag and slung it over his shoulders. 

Victor wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “Yuuri--” But the other man was halfway out the door before he could say much more than his name.  “Do you even know where you’re going?” he shouted after him, but all he heard was the heavy click of the closing door.

He’d wanted to burst right out the door and chase Yuuri right to the rink. He’d quickly finished his breakfast, not wanting the (amazingly tasty) food Yuuri made to go to waste. But the moment he was dressed and ready to leave, Makkachin came over and stared at him, and he hesitated. Had Yuuri taken him out earlier? It was impossible to know, and the dog definitely wanted to go out. With a sigh, Victor regarded his pet. “You know Yakov doesn’t like it when you come to the rink with me,” he admonished him in Russian, watching Makkachin’s ears perk up at the sound of the language.  “And I want to catch up to Yuuri. Can we make this quick, do you think?”

Makkachin jumped a little bit, planting his paws firmly on the floor and wagging his tail. Victor took that as a ‘yes’ and, with a little sigh, got his leash. “I know you hate this,” he said. “But it’s almost the morning rush, and you know what it’s like out there.” The policemen had been even more strict about the leash-and-collar laws since he’d been back in St. Petersburg. He’d gotten a warning about Makkachin’s leashless behavior, but at least they hadn’t given him a citation. And no one had said anything about the muzzle required for dogs over 25 cm, and he hoped that complying with the leash regulation would keep it that way.

It felt as though Makkachin had conspired with Yuuri to keep him away from the rink. He spent a solid twenty minutes wandering around the neighborhood, hunting up the best place to do his business, and it took even more time to take him back to the apartment-- and get him to agree to stay there. Even though Victor wasn’t late for the morning skate, he arrived feeling frustrated and irritable about the delay.  And the fact that the entire rest of the team saw him arrive alone did not help matters any.  “Where’s your student?” Mila asked him.

“I don’t know!” Victor exclaimed, spreading his hands wide. “He left the house while I was still eating breakfast.”

“He was up that early?” Yurio said.

“Well obviously he was, if he left before Victor,” Alexei said.

Yurio's disdainful sniff said plainly what he thought about _that_ comment. “But the piggy is  _ not  _ a morning person," he explained. "Like, usually he hits the snooze button for an hour, and when he finally gets up, he wanders a round like a zombie for at least another half hour.” Noticing that they were all staring at him now, he got irritated. “What?” 

“How do you know all this?” Georgi asked.

Yurio gave Georgi one of his famously disparaging eyerolls. “I lived in his house for a week, back in Hasetsu,” he said.

“Did you share a room with him?” Mila asked him sweetly.

“No,” said Yurio scornfully. Then he turned red. “Shut up!”

Alexei, meanwhile, looked sidelong at Victor. “Where did he say he was going?”

Victor sighed heavily, and shook his head. “He  _ said  _ he was going for a run, and he’d meet me here.  But he doesn’t know the area very well yet, so I hope he didn’t get…” he trailed off as they walked into the rink. “...lost.”

The five of them stared at the lone figure out on the ice as he worked his way through his skating warm-up. Even though he had to have heard them come in, he finished the last of the spins in his combination before acknowledging their presence. Then, he turned, and leveled a finger directly at Yurio's chest. “Today,” he called out, " _ I  _ lead off.” 

As one, the Russian team stared at him in stunned silence. It wasn’t until Alexei murmured, “What is this, now?” that the spell was broken at last.

“Fine!” Yurio said, stomping over to the nearest bench and tearing into his skating bag, pulling out his skates and shoving his feet into them.

“Our Yuri has challenged Yuuri Katsuki to a jump-off,” Mila told Alexei in Russian. “It’s been going on for almost a week now. The winner gets to stay on the ice first, but the loser has to wait and practice later.”

“Ah-- so, hazing, is it?” Alexei said with a little smirk. “How is your Yuuri handling it, Victor?”

Victor was staring at Yuuri, thinking about the state of his jumps yesterday and barely listening to their conversation. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked how your Yuuri is handling the hazing,” Alexei said.

Victor blinked. “Hazing?” he said.

Mila sighed, shaking her head at Victor. “He’s been very calm about the whole thing,” she told Alexei. “It’s driving our Yuri crazy!”

Alexei looked impressed. “Your skater has some remarkable mental toughness,” he told Victor.

Seeing Victor’s expression, Mila burst out laughing. “That’s… not exactly what he’s known for,” she said. 

No, it wasn’t. But Victor wasn’t sure that Alexei was wrong. 

Yurio had stretched for nearly twenty minutes before Victor arrived, and he only did a cursory skating warm up before he decided he was ready to go, skating into the middle of the ice and showering Yuuri with snow upon his arrival.  To his credit, Yuuri didn’t even flinch. “Triple flip,” he said. 

Yurio smirked. “That’s it? That’s what you’re leading off with?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle on the first jump,” he said. Then he started out, building up speed; Victor found himself holding his breath.  He needn’t have worried. Everything about the jump was perfect, the rotations crisp, the landing clean. The moment the blade of his right skate hit the ice, Victor released the breath he’d been holding in a rush. This didn’t escape Alexei’s notice; the older skater clapped a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it bracingly. 

Yurio scoffed at the jump, saying it wasn’t much of a challenge, before skating out and landing a brilliant triple flip. Alexei raised his eyebrows. “It’s a good thing he isn’t all talk,” he said.

“This contest wouldn’t have dragged on for a week if he was,” Victor muttered.

“Who had the better jump?” Yurio called to them. 

They all looked at each other, then at Alexei, who blinked at them. “What, you ask me?” he said, shrugging. “They looked about even.”

Yuuri nodded, then turned to Yurio. “Your call.”

“Quad salchow,” Yurio declared, naming the lead-off jump he did every day. There wasn’t a question in anyone’s mind that he would nail it; at this point, he was confident in his ability to execute the jump. At this point in the week, though, the same could be said for Yuuri, and he, too, was perfect in his execution. His height on the jump might have been just a little bit better than Yurio’s, but if Victor said so, they’d just tell him he was biased. And maybe he was, just a little. 

“So, we’re still tied,” Alexei said, shrugging a little. 

Yuuri nodded, then called out the triple axel as the next jump. Leading off, he launched into the triple axel-- with one hand over his head, just the way that Yurio would do it. He wasn’t completely proficient at it-- putting the hand over his head changed the rotations slightly-- and he wobbled just the slightest bit on the landing. Mila put a hand over her mouth, and immediately glanced at Victor, who looked just as astonished. Yurio, however, was fit to be tied. “What was  _ that _ , Katsu-don?”

Yuuri shrugged. “In competition, you have to use every advantage, right?” he said. “Your turn.”

Irritated, Yurio went after the jump furiously, nearly over-rotating in the process. Alexei raised his eyebrows, and once again declared the jumps even. 

Just then, there came a loud shout from the rink’s edge. “What, again?” Yakov cried, shouting in Russian. “This competition is a foolish waste of time! Just let it go!”

Alexei looked surprised. “When is competition ever a foolish waste of time?” he said in Russian. “Isn’t that sort of the  _ point  _ of competitive skating?”

“But look at these two!” Yakov gestured to the ice. “These fools! Wasting time and energy that should be dedicated to practicing their routines!”

Victor stood beside them, but he wasn't paying attention to the shouting. He was watching the competition and feeling all the raw edges of worry begin to settle at last. This wasn’t just a test of jumping ability; he was watching his protege play a  _ mind game  _ with a competitor. Prior to this morning he would have said that it was entirely out of character for Yuuri, but after the incident with the omelette, he was starting to understand. Until now, Victor had seen Yuuri tackle challenges head on, overcoming them with effort and diligent practice. But this, like their breakfast issue, was a problem he couldn’t solve that way, and he  _ knew _ that. So he had come up with his own solution, and now he was putting it into effect, calmly matching his opponent jump for jump and nailing everything without expending too much energy.  Meanwhile Yurio, with his youthful energy and contrary nature, was throwing everything after this match.  And Victor knew in a flash how Yuuri intended to win. He could have done it at any time-- and he  _ knew _ that. But he had waited. Why?

Seven rounds in, the score was still tied, and the skaters were starting to look a little worse for wear. Yuuri pushed his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, while Yurio tried as hard as he could not to show how winded he was. Alexei looked at Mila. “How were these scored before?”

“Yakov did it,” Mila murmured to him.

“How, exactly?” Alexei asked. "Isn’t one of them supposed to  _ win _ at some point?”

“Katsuki threw the matches every day, since the beginning of the week,” Yakov grumbled. “So it was always over after three rounds. Today…”

“Today, my Yuuri will win,” Victor said quietly.

They all turned to look at him. “How do you know?” Alexei asked him.

“It’s going to come down to stamina,” Victor said. “And my Yuuri has more than Yurio does.”

There was an uneasy silence as the other skaters realized that Victor was right. Then Yuuri called out the next jump. “Quad flip.”

Immediately, Yakov called out, “Stop! This is madness. Someone will get injured if this continues!”  

Yuuri glanced at the old coach, then turned to Yurio and said, “Do you concede the match?” 

Yurio’s response was predictable. “Not on your life! I will do your jump, but you have to land it first!”

“Okay,” said Yuuri.  Without hesitating, he worked up some speed, then launched himself into the air and landed a beautiful quad flip. Even after eight jumps-- difficult jumps-- in a row, his jump showed no visible signs of the fatigue he was likely feeling.  He came back around, obviously out of breath but looking quite pleased with himself.

Yurio faltered in the face of this, a flicker of doubt cracking his usual veneer of confidence. Then he squared his jaw and skated off. “Yuri-!!” Yakov shouted, but Victor knew the young skater wasn’t going to listen to his coach now. 

He did his best. Privately, Victor was impressed that he managed it as well as he did; the jump had the right number of rotations, and he landed on the proper foot, though his legs were so fatigued that he put the second foot down almost immediately to keep himself from falling. “That still counts!” he shouted, and the entire assembled group nearly fell over.  Doing a jump that difficult when he was exhausted could have been disastrous, but Yurio was more concerned with the jump-off than his own well being.

Yuuri smiled, completely unperturbed. “Fine!” he said, extending a hand for Yurio to shake. “Well done!”

Yurio eyed him warily, then took his hand.

The pair shook hands for a moment, Yuuri smiling all the while. Then he said, “Your call, I believe.” 

And Yurio caved. “That’s it! I concede! I can’t do this anymore!” He doubled over, resting his elbows on his thighs, “How are you still standing after all that??” 

Along the edge of the rink, the entire group relaxed. “Finally,” Yakov said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “What kind of shape is that boy going to be in, to skate today?”

“He’s going to have at least ninety minutes before he skates,” Georgi remarked. “Maybe he’ll recover some.”

Yurio was working his way to the edge of the rink, somewhat more slowly than usual, and Yuuri was following him in. “Since I finally won,” he said, looking thoughtful, “I think we should try a new contest tomorrow. Not a jump-off, but a dance battle!”

“You and your dance battles,” Yurio muttered.

“Pick whatever music you want and make up a short, 1-minute routine to it,” Yuuri continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “Best competitor gets to practice first for the next  _ three  _ days.”

Yurio stepped off the ice, then turned and glowered at him suspiciously. “You don’t think that actually works in your favor, do you?” he demanded.

“You’d rather I out-jump you into exhaustion again?” Yuuri smirked.

Yurio’s expression clearly told them how he felt about  _ that _ idea. “Fine! A dance battle.” Sticking a finger in Yuuri’s face, he said, “Brace yourself, pork cutlet bowl! I will not let you off easy!” 

“I should hope not,” Yuuri said, with that same easy smile he’d worn all morning. “But for now-- we’ll see you in ninety minutes.”

Yurio gave him a sour look, then turned and headed off in the direction of the dressing room-- and probably the physical therapy room, with the whirlpool.  The other skaters started lacing up their skates, shaking their heads over what they’d just witnessed, but Victor lingered by the rink edge. Yuuri was white-knuckling the top of the short wall, but he grinned shakily at Victor. “You aren’t going to make me do a full warm-up today, are you?” he asked.

“I think you’re probably plenty warmed up by now, you crazy thing,” Victor said.  Normally he might have pounced on him, but  he wasn't sure Yuuri's legs would support his weight, after all that. So he merely opened his arms, letting Yuuri fall into him. "Did you wear yourself out, too?” he whispered.

Yuuri shook his head. “I was so focused on beating Yurio… and it just kind of hit me that I  _ did _ it, and my legs turned to jelly,” he said. “I’ll be all right in a minute.” 

“You did very well,” Victor murmured. “I was impressed.” 

“High praise.” Yuuri’s voice was muffled by Victor’s shoulder.

“Did you want me to help you come up with a dance-off routine?” he asked. 

Yuuri lifted his head and grinned at him. “Victor.  It didn’t take me  _ four days _ to figure out how to beat Yurio in a jump-off. What do you think I’ve been doing upstairs in the dance room all week?”

Victor blinked at him. Slowly, his mouth fell open. 

Yuuri smiled, and patted his cheek. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”  he said.  “I have things under control. Now, I’m going to go get some water. You put on your skates, and then we can practice!”

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching Yuuri walk across the rink towards his bag, before Alexei’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You look like you’ve been hit upside the head.”

“I’m not sure I even know who that man is,” Victor replied. 

“You’ve created a monster!” Yakov’s voice, ringing out from the other side of him, clearly expressed his delight. “At long last you can experience what it feels like when your protege slips the leash. I am so pleased that I can be here to see it.” 

As he wandered off, chortling to himself, Alexei rested a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “ _ Have  _ you created a monster?”

“No,” Victor said. “I have no idea what he’s talking about; pay no attention to him.”  He stared after Yuuri again, lost in thought. 

“Does it bother you,” Alexei said, “that he isn’t doing what you expect him to do?”

“...no,” Victor decided. “It’s just surprising.” He grinned up at his former rinkmate. “And you know how much I love surprises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comments and kudos! Student teaching and directing a musical take up a lot of my time, but this story cycle has been whirling in my head since December, wanting me to finish it, and just knowing that people are reading is enough to keep me going!
> 
> One part left, for this fic at least...


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